“Jensen! Are you okay? What happened?”
“Jeff. Thank God. We’re fine. It was my fault. Is the girl okay?”
“What girl?” I ask, looking around the scene.
“The other driver. I can’t get into her car.”
“Wait here. The sheriff can’t be too far behind.”
“I’ve got a game tonight, Jeff.”
“I highly doubt that now, Jensen. You realize you smell like weed, don’t you?”
“I’m not high, man. Not anymore. I smoked before school this morning.” That was eight hours ago, he should be fine, but that’s not my call.
“We will let the sheriff decide that, Jensen. Wait here.”
I rush over to the other car, where the entire driver's side is smashed to hell. I move to the passenger side, finding the door locked. Using my elbow, I break in the window just enough to reach my gloved hand in and unlock it. I wrench the door open and climb inside. Only the side panel airbags have been deployed. Therefore, I can see the girl’s face. Her face is cut up, and she’s passed out, but she’s alive. Through the blood and glass covering her pale skin, I can’t help but notice how fucking beautiful she is.
“What do you need?” my buddy Conrad asks from behind me.
“A collar and have a board ready.”
“You got it,” he says, running toward the ambulance that has arrived on the scene as well.
“Ma’am,” I shout. “Can you hear me?” She moans and tries to move, but she’s stuck by her seatbelt. “Ma’am. I’m Jefferson. I’m gonna get you out of here, okay.” I take the collar that Conrad slightly hands me and place it around her neck. I don’t think anything is broken, but I’ve got to be careful before moving her.
“Jefferson? That’s a sttttrong name,” she slurs. “Very presidenty,” she says.
“Tell me your name,” I say.
“Zephyr Sky Banks,” she says softly before passing out again. She surely has a concussion. What a name.
I work on getting her seatbelt off, and when I finally do, she slumps over into my arms.
“Come on, beautiful, let’s get you some help,” I murmur as I gently pull her into my arms. The cars are so smashed together, it’s going to take a while to separate them, and I want her out of her now.
She’s why. She’s why I felt so strongly about this accident. Why I had to be the one to save her. I step out of the car with her in my arms. I feel whole with her in them for the first time in my life. Things happen for a reason, and I am a hundred percent sure she’s my reason.
“Mister President, thank you,” she moans as I lie her down on the gurney next to the mangled mess of cars. She grabs my hand in a death grip and won’t let go.
Unbidden, I climb into the back of the ambulance and ride with her to the hospital. She’s taken into a trauma room. My father is a doctor here, but I know he’s off today.
“Hey, Ma. I need to talk to dad,” I say, calling their house phone. Only people I know who still have one.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, not even hesitating.
“I met her, Ma,” I say into the phone. For some reason, I can barely keep it together.
“Who, dear?”
“My wife. Well, she will be, but she’s been in an accident.”
“I’ll send your father down there now.”
“Thank you.”
“Everything will be alright,” she says.
“I hope so,” I reply because it certainly feels like my whole future is in that room right now.
three
ZEPHYR
I awake with a jerk. I was having the most wonderful dream about a strong, sexy man carrying me away from a burning building. The bright fluorescent light scares me for a second, but then I see a doctor and a fireman standing at the foot of the uncomfortable bed I’m in. I stare at the huge fireman through hooded eyes. It’s the same man from my dream, I’m sure of it. I feel like I’ve known him forever. He’s gorgeous, and I feel the insane urge to lick him all over after I rip his PSVFD t-shirt off of him. Maybe I’ve died, and this is what heaven is like at first. I shake my head to clear the thought but then wince when I realize my head is fucking killing me. The men are whispering, but it sounds like a cacophony of sounds to me. Loud ones.
“She’s awake, son,” the doctor says. Both men stare at me. The fireman is staring at me much more intently than the doctor is. “How are you feeling, Ms. Banks?”
“My head hurts,” I say; my voice is ragged, and my throat hurts.
“That’s to be expected. You’re doing quite well. We’ll get you something for the pain and get you discharged. It was just a mild concussion, but you must have needed the rest to heal. We’ve kept a close eye on you. You’ve been here for three days. Do you remember the accident?”